


Under a Hypothetical Sky

by cominginside



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Edmonton Oilers, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:35:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cominginside/pseuds/cominginside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something about a fresh sheet of ice and a winter sunrise that speaks of promise and the future, no matter how old one is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under a Hypothetical Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heartandmindxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartandmindxx/gifts).



> Thanks to heartandmindxx and 12ways for reading this over for me, as usual.

The ice gleams under the floodlights. It's flawless, flat and even, no marks from skates digging in or sticks being dragged across it. Taylor finishes putting the hose away and walks back to look at it, feeling a sense of pride and anticipation that never dims, no matter how many years he does this. There's something about a fresh sheet of ice that gets to him; there's so much _possibility_ in it, all the games to be played, the goals and passes and mock-fights that will scuff up all his hard work. He can't wait.

It takes him a while to get the nets in place, measuring and drilling and dragging. It would go faster with help, but Taylor's always done this on his own, and he doesn't mind the work. By the time he's done, there's a hint of grey showing in the sky to the east--it's not sunrise, not yet, but there's a promise of it, the world just on the verge of waking up. Taylor checks everything one last time, testing the boards and nets, making sure the gates latch firmly, and then he turns off the lights and heads inside.

Jordan's still asleep in their bed when he walks in, but that's what Taylor expects. He walks quietly over to the bed and leans down, pressing his chilled hands against the warm skin of Jordan's back, then jumps away laughing when Jordan yelps and flails sleepily at him.

"Ugh, fuck you," Jordan says, opening one eye and pulling the blankets up around him. "That was cold."

"That was the point," Taylor tells him, grinning. "C'mon, get up. I have something to show you."

"It's not even six yet," Jordan says. "Can't it wait?"

"No," Taylor says. He leans over and tugs the blankets down, ignoring the way that Jordan half-heartedly tries to stop them. "Come on, Ebby."

Jordan sighs and sits up, yawning and running a hand through his hair. Taylor feels a surge of affection, the way he always does when Jordan looks like this, sleepy and rumpled and perfect. There's silver in Jordan's hair these days but Taylor loves him all the more for that, for the visible signs that they've been together for decades. He leans in and kisses Jordan, ignoring Jordan's morning breath and the grumpy noise he makes. When he stands up again, Jordan's smiling at him.

Taylor heads down to the kitchen and pours the contents of their coffee maker into a thermos, grabbing a couple of their most durable mugs and putting them by the door. He checks for Jordan's skates, which are in their mud room, piled with Taylor's and the kids', and quickly tests the blades even though he'd gotten them sharpened the day before. He wants everything to be perfect.

Pulling Jordan's coat, scarf, and hat off the rack, Taylor walks back into the kitchen, waiting for Jordan to come downstairs. Soon enough, he hears the soft fall of feet, and then Jordan walks down the hallway, yawning again. He's in a worn pair of Oilers sweatpants and a Hockey Edmonton polo and his hair's even more of a mess, curls sticking out in all directions. When he sees the coat in Taylor's hand, he laughs and shakes his head.

"You could have just said that the rink's done," he says, walking over and taking his coat. "I would have gotten up."

"You did anyway," Taylor points out, reaching out to do up Jordan's zipper and snaps. "And who says that's what this is about?"

Jordan rolls his eyes, but is quiet as Taylor wraps his scarf warmly around him and plunks a hat on his head. When Taylor goes to step back and get his own winter gear, Jordan pulls him back in, kissing him sweetly for a few minutes, warm in the early morning quiet of their kitchen before breaking it off with a smile and pushing Taylor towards the mud room.

Taylor feels a thrill of anticipation as he puts his own warm coat on. It's the same one he's felt every time he's about to get on the ice--the same one he'd felt as a kid with his mom helping lace up his skates, the same one he'd felt pulling on his Oilers jersey, the same one he feels checking over the kids he coaches these days. Hockey is waiting for him.

The grey on the horizon is more visible now, flowing into the deep dark of the night sky. Taylor hits the switch on the floodlights and looks over at Jordan, grinning when he sees Jordan's face light up.

"Should we wake the kids up for this?" Jordan asks him, but he never looks away from the rink, breath puffing out in white clouds with every word, cheeks pink and eyes bright.

"Nah," Taylor says. "They had a late night last night, let them sleep in."

"You just don't want to share the ice."

Taylor laughs, mostly because it's true. "Come on," he says. "Grab some pucks and sticks, I'll bring the coffee."

There are twinges in his knees when he bends to put on his skates that weren't there a few years ago, but he feels like a kid again as soon as he steps onto the ice. His skates cut into the ice as he makes a lazy loop around it, waiting for Jordan to join him. It's good ice, solid and smooth and easy to move across, and he's proud of all the work that went into making it. There had been weeks of preparation, getting everything in place and building up the surface layer by layer, hoping that the weather would stay cold enough for it to set properly. They don't have a cooling system like some people; Taylor makes his backyard rink the old-fashioned way, the way his dad taught him. All the effort is more than worth it for the feel of the ice under his feet as he skates over to join Jordan.

"It's perfect," Jordan tells him.

"Let's go mess it up," Taylor says, grabbing them both sticks and knocking a puck off the boards onto the ice. "First to ten?"

It takes a while for them to get going at full speed, but soon enough Taylor's flying down the ice, trying to pokecheck the puck away from Jordan, who spins and darts and twists to get away from him, laughing when Taylor wraps an arm around him from behind.

"Two minutes for holding!" he calls out, shooting the puck anyway and making a grumpy noise when it slides past the far post, ricocheting around the corner.

"No refs here, Ebby," Taylor says, darting away after the puck and getting a light swat to the back of his calves in revenge.

When they stop messing around and get down to actually trying, they're pretty evenly matched. They always have been, really, too familiar with each other for either of them to have a real advantage. Taylor's faster, and that helps him sometimes, but Jordan's sneaky enough to get past him even when Taylor thinks he knows what his husband's about to do. In the end, Jordan wins it by just shooting the puck through Taylor's legs, straight down the ice into the net.

"Who do you think you are, Ovechkin?" Taylor asks him, laughing as Jordan does a little celly.

"Pour me some coffee, loser," Jordan says.

They sit on the bench, drinking their coffee slowly. It's hot enough to send pillars of steam up from the mugs, and Taylor holds his tightly to warm up his fingers. There are a few birds starting to wake up now, tentative chirps and trills breaking the silence intermittently. Jordan sighs happily and Taylor leans into him, wriggling down on the bench a little as Jordan wraps an arm around his shoulders.

"So, was it worth getting out of bed for?" Taylor asks, putting his empty mug down on the bench next to him.

"Well," Jordan says, drawing the word out, then laughing. "Yeah, it was worth it."

"Good," Taylor says. He leans over and presses a kiss to Jordan's temple. "Let's go wake the kids up so they can skate before class."

Their billet kids are sleepy, grumpy messes until they get on the ice, at which point they suddenly become whirling dervishes, darting around and checking each other lightly into the boards. Davin, their resident rookie, is a loudmouth extraordinaire, but Chris has a few years and a few inches on him and quickly puts an end to the chirping by catching his younger teammate and jerseying him, leaving him flailing in the middle of the ice while Jordan and Taylor try not to laugh too loudly on the bench.

"I think we could take these guys," Taylor says, watching them battle for a puck against the boards. "Two on two?"

Jordan looks thoughtful, then nods. "Let's show these whippersnappers how hockey's really played."

"'Whippersnappers'?" Taylor asks, raising his eyebrows. "You really are turning into an old man."

"This old man schooled you once already this morning, so what does that make you?" Jordan says, standing up and pulling his hat more firmly over his ears.

"You beat me by _one_ ," Taylor protests, following Jordan onto the ice.

They beat the kids by more than that. Taylor and Jordan might not have wheels like the kids these days but they have nearly thirty years of playing together on their side, and even if the kids beat them to the puck more often than not, once one of them gets it on their stick, the kids rarely get it back. By the time the sun breaks over the horizon, Team Old Guys is up by four.

"Let's call it a game and go have breakfast," Jordan says, flipping the puck off his stick a few times before catching it and skating it over to the pile on the boards. "I'm not sure 'new rink' is an excuse your teachers will like too much if you're late."

Taylor catches him as they finish taking off their skates, kissing him thoroughly. The kids make grossed out noises; Davin says, "oh god, it's like watching my parents kiss but _worse_ ".

"Just for that, you get to put the gear away," Jordan tells him. "Chris, you're in charge of setting the table."

Breakfast is a noisy affair, like it usually is, Davin and Chris telling Jordan and Taylor all about the roadtrip they'd just finished. Jordan makes them piles of food--eggs and turkey sausages and pumpernickel toast, with orange juice and coffee to drink. The boys eat an incredible amount, like always, and Jordan makes Taylor clear the table as the kids get their stuff together for school.

"When do you need to be at the rink?" Jordan asks once the kids are out the door, arguing about the radio all the way to Chris's beat up old pickup.

"Not until four," Taylor says. "You?"

"Eight," Jordan says. "Want to go again? I bet I can make it two-of-two."

"You wish," Taylor says. "I'll take that bet, though."

"What are we betting?"

"If I win..." Taylor says. "You'll come to bed with me after the game."

"And if I win, you'll come to bed with _me_ ," Jordan says, laughing.

"Not gonna happen," Taylor says. "Let's go."

The ice gleams under the early winter sun. It's covered in skate marks, sharply curving lines and arced scrapes from where they'd stopped up. Tonight, once the boys have finally gone to bed and the rink is empty, Taylor will sweep it up and flood it again, so it's fresh in the morning. Jordan pulls his skates on quickly, beating Taylor onto the ice and saying, "Come on, hurry up."

Taylor can't wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Because I can't write futurefic without coming up with backstory for it... Jordan works for Hockey Edmonton, organizing childrens' hockey programs and coaching pee wee teams; Taylor's working as a bantam coach. They've been retired for about five years at this point, but they both took some time off instead of going straight into coaching or management, even though the offers were there. Eventually Taylor will end up running the Oil Kings and Jordan will work for Hockey Canada, commuting to Calgary when he needs to actually be in the office. They've been happily married for over a decade at this point and have been billeting juniors players for the last three years.
> 
> Davin is the son of current Oil King Henrik Samuelsson, just because heartandmindxx and I wanted him to be. Chris is not related to anyone, but he is named after Chris Stewart.
> 
> Written for heartandmindxx. She knows why.


End file.
